44* which he had been travelling, and hid himself in the woods. Twice during the course of the morning he heard trains whistle, and, looking down, saw them drawing easily down across the valley, flecking the air only with a little steam and wisping smoke. In the evening he came down, and began to walk eastward along the tracks. The house stood back from a rutty dirt road. He knew it was the place, because leaning over close to the mailbox he had been able to make out the name, " Edmund Tolliver." It was a new mailbox. The metal was clean and slick to the touch of his fingers, and the black lettering distinct upon it. A stone wall separated the yard from the road, where a fringe of leafy brush ran. The gate was gone, and stones had fallen from the wall beside a broken post. There were no trees in the yard, but the black bulk of woods showed on the rise beyond the house. At first he thought the house was deserted; then, upon nearer approach, he saw that a very dim light showed around a curtain at one window, or a cloth which had been hung there. His knees tense and crooking beneath him, he stepped upon the loose boards of the porch floor, and laid his hand to the latch. The door gave easily, with only a slight sound. At the instant of his entering, he made out, by the unsure light of the turned-down lamp, the figure on the bed, covered only by a sheet, the face averted. He closed the door behind him, as with the scrupulous care of someone entering a sick- room. He stood there watching, leaning forward a little, solicitously; and very slowly, almost weakly, while he stood there, the figure moved on the bed and the face turned toward him. He saw the eyes, faintly shining in the light, widen? and saw the lips twitch, preparatory to speech. "What do you want?" the man op. the bed said. Not answering, he took two long, bent-kneed strides toward the bed. He laid his left hand gn the footboard, and inclined his body a little forward, staring. "What do you want here?" the man on the bed said.